Masks
by Peregrine Vision
Summary: Aoshi embarks on his first serious venture since stepping down from Okashira, and has to face a few questions about himself on the way. Tie-in with Two Wings.
1. Prologue Paper Thin

MASKS A Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic by Peregrine Vision  
  
Prologue - Paper Thin  
  
"Sometimes I wonder if he's going to stay in there forever," Okon said with a sigh, as she set down the empty tea tray. "He's in there so often."  
  
Omasu's eyes went to the shut door down the corridor. "Well...maybe he doesn't feel, you know, needed," she suggested. "After all, he isn't officially our okashira any more."  
  
Both women sweatdropped as they remembered their "official" leader.  
  
"Where is she, anyway?" Omasu asked.  
  
Okon smiled. "Out back with Okina. She's practicing with a wakizashi, if you can believe it."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"That's what I asked her. She said something about the kunai being...*unimpressive*. Claims she's carrying on an okashira tradition."  
  
Omasu blinked. "Eh? Aoshi-sama's predecessor never carried blades."  
  
"I said that, too. But you know how Misao-chan gets. I think she's hoping Aoshi-sama will pass his technique down to her." The older woman's voice was very dry.  
  
Omasu rolled her eyes. "Not likely, I should think."  
  
"Tell that to Misao-chan."  
  
* * *  
  
The steaming cup of tea clinked as Aoshi set it down on the little table in front of him. He had been contemplating the other objects on the table for a while now.  
  
A paper balloon.  
  
//I'm a woman now. We can talk about that sometime, if you like.//  
  
She had grown. She had grown worlds in a few months. Himura had been good for her, and Aoshi chuckled at that, that the man he had once named his enemy had been the best teacher to the most precious person in his life.  
  
Indeed, Misao was quite the little woman now. She had cut her hair and let it down, and Okon was teaching her that a fighting woman didn't have to act like a boy. She even wore kimono now, frequently. It pleased Aoshi to go into town with her and see the admiring glances she drew from boys on the street--although any man who did more than look, without permission, would soon taste Aoshi's blades as well as Misao's.  
  
He was so proud of her. With a little twinge of guilt, Aoshi admitted to himself that he was more than a little relieved that she'd grown up so fast. He didn't have to take care of her any more; she could do things on her own.  
  
The trouble was that she still *wanted* him to take care of her. She always looked to him. Whenever she noticed his eyes on her, she seemed to change back to the blindly adoring child he'd known for years. Everything she did had to have "Aoshi-sama"'s approval. Everything she said was to make "Aoshi-sama" proud. She still didn't understand that he already took pride in her, that he did love her. But he could never love her the way she wanted him to.  
  
Even though he had tried.  
  
And others had certainly tried. He cast a slightly exasperated frown at another object on the table...a paper crane.   
  
He had made one very like it for those two sweet little girls, Ayame and Suzume, when he visited the house in Tokyo. And as they went off expressing delight with their gifts, Himura had taken the opportunity once more to lecture Aoshi on the merits of giving in to Misao.  
  
Ever since their battle, Himura had simply not stopped prattling in his well-meaning, thoroughly annoying way. Just because mentioning Misao, and Aoshi's connection with her, had helped bring Aoshi out of his self-destructive madness.  
  
//You say Misao-dono is a strong girl and can take care of herself. That strong girl wept when I promised to bring you back to the Aoiya no matter what.//  
  
That interfering little busybody. Somehow Himura had got it into his fluffy red head that Misao was just the right person for Aoshi to settle down with. The last time they had had that conversation, Aoshi was tempted to retort that although marrying so far beneath his age group was all right for Himura, their cases differed on two points: one, no one noticed how much *older* Himura was compared to Kamiya Kaoru, and two, said Kaoru did not tail after him like an adoring puppy.  
  
The worst part of it was, Aoshi was genuinely sorry for Misao. How long had he wished he would grow to love her?   
  
He had foreseen this blind adoration since her childhood. Even then she had shown signs of infatuation with him. That was a very small factor contributing to his departure, compared to the true reason he had left with the rest of the Oniwabanshuu--the "old school", Okina had called them. However, it was still a factor.  
  
He had wanted Misao to grow up depending on no one but herself. He was happy that she, at least, had made friends on the way. But Aoshi himself was the biggest obstacle in her path to maturity, and he had known it well. It was Hannya who had told him, but he had known already.  
  
The plan had backfired. Without him around, Misao had grown up with an idealized vision of him, the perfect person she called "Aoshi-sama". He had destroyed her illusions with the Okina incident, but ever since he had returned, she had hit upon a new obsession: trying to make him smile.  
  
It was all Himura's fault. The nosy little swordsman had given her the idea, telling her that Aoshi "needed to smile". It was enough to make his teeth hurt.  
  
Actually, after Misao had made that awful joke about "stopping the bucket", Aoshi had locked himself into his room, buried his face in his pillow and laughed himself sick. It wasn't so much the stupid joke as it was so much fun to keep his face impassive and make her wail. He was damned if he'd give Himura the satisfaction.  
  
One of these days, he promised himself, he *would* allow himself to laugh. Misao was still his favorite person and he did enjoy spending time with her, but it was just too soon to get everyone started on their none-too-subtle "why don't you go on and let Misao make you happy" campaign.  
  
With a great sigh, Aoshi unfolded his legs and got up. He went over to the cabinet of drawers on the opposite side of the room, to put away the deflated paper balloon and the crane. Looking at the cabinet, he realized he hadn't organized it in a long time. There were quite a few drawers, and although the Oniwabanshuu were known for their extensive network and resourcefulness, a secret failing of the organization was that they were pack rats to a man...or woman, as it were.  
  
After going through several drawers (there were no designated drawers for each member, hence no allowance for privacy--he needed to speak to Okina about that) housing Shiro's butterfly collection, Omasu's sparse hoard of jewelry and an amazing amount of what were clearly love letters, all addressed to Okon, he found a very small hide pouch pulled shut with a string. He opened it.  
  
The ensuing scent made his head spin. It brought back a thousand memories he had tried to repress, memories that sent him through a gamut of unaccustomed emotions. It was the scent of orange blossoms, subtler than the sharp citrus smell of the fruit itself but still distinct after all these years.  
  
He spilled the contents out into the felt-lined drawer. Even the strong smell of cedarwood could not dispel the scent that rose from the innocent-looking paper packets. Aoshi felt as if that perfume was pulling him down into the drawer, as if he was falling into his own past....  
  
What are you doing? That was him, leaning against the wall of Kanryuu's lab, watching her handle the opium papers with tongs. Delicately but efficiently, paper after paper was dipped in a dish of clear liquid, with what looked like crushed petals at the bottom. The smell in the lab was not strong, but Aoshi nevertheless felt strange: hot and just the least bit dizzy, as if he had had a little too much to drink.  
  
A disdainful toss of long black hair. If you actually *cared*, I would tell you I was marking the special product by scent.  
  
Opium doesn't smell. Unless it was burned, but only an idiot burned opium while they were working on it. And she was no idiot.  
  
Thank you for the information, was the cool retort, although I assure you I knew that already. I am, after all, the manufacturer of your drugs.  
  
Aoshi's eyes narrowed, but he showed no other reaction. If she wanted to take refuge from her helplessness in sarcasm, it was no concern of his.  
  
He expected that she would fall silent afterward, but instead she made a little *tsk*ing sound and proceeded to explain. If there was anything he had learned about her in her captivity, it was that she considered ignorance another form of illness. As such she felt beholden to cure it. It was an amusing trait of hers, although Aoshi did not like to admit that it amused him.  
  
I happen to have soaked the paper in my own perfume, so I know which packets hold our product and which ones have ordinary opium...if you can call that stuff ordinary. Buyers don't like having the packets marked, but I like to be able to tell mine apart. Her eyes narrowed as she said this. Aoshi very much doubted she *liked* anything about the whole operation.  
  
When he had opened the door of the tower room and thrown her the tanto, the orange blossom smell had surrounded him just before he had gone to meet the man he called Battousai in their first match...just before he had seen his men die for his sake.  
  
When he had gone to the dojo looking for Battousai, that same scent had filled his head as he leaned close to her. He had actually reached out to stroke her cheek! He did not remember thinking about her at the time...his mind had been occupied with the thought of Battousai's title of "strongest" and how Aoshi could claim it for the glory of the Oniwabanshuu. But his hand had moved on its own. The action had disturbed him, and he had perhaps overcompensated by threatening to kill her. He might have done it, too, if Saitou Hajime had not been by, simply because she had diverted him for a moment from his goal.  
  
Terrible days, for all of them. But the last time Aoshi had taken in that scent, it had been overshadowed by the scent of cherry blossoms, and that memory was one of peace and happiness with friends.   
  
Aoshi picked up one of the packets and fingered it. The pouch had been in a pocket of his coat the day he fought Himura at Kanryuu's mansion. He had been preparing for a visit to a prospective buyer, but the events of that night had put the visit and the little pouch out of his mind for a very long time.   
  
How had the thing survived till now? He remembered practically living in that coat, wandering like Himura, only filled with thoughts of bitterness instead of thoughts of atonement. He had never done anything practical like check the pockets before he took it off to sleep. He had hardly remembered to eat, much less inspect his coat.  
  
When he had had that fight with Himura, the one that had brought him back to himself, his coat had practically been shredded. Yet this had survived, and taken so little hurt. How? Why?  
  
Aoshi remembered a Buddhist story he had been told as a child, a long time ago. He remembered its moral most clearly: he always remembered the lessons better than the stories themselves.  
  
Coincidence is a construct of human foolishness. There is no such thing--everything happens for a reason.  
  
//Everything happens for a reason.//  
  
Slowly Aoshi brought his fingers to his face, and inhaled. The scent of Takani Megumi brought back that strange unsteady feeling he had first experienced in the lab.  
  
He piled the packets of opium back into their pouch and pulled the mouth shut. Then he replaced it in the drawer.  
  
After a pause he opened the drawer again, took out the pouch and placed it in the drawer that held the balloon and the paper crane.  
  
An interesting thought had just begun to form in his head. But Aoshi was tired of meditation for the moment. The thought could be attended to another time.  
  
He opened the sliding door and looked into the Aoiya garden. Okon and Omasu, on the other side, looked up at him in surprise. He gave them a little smile.  
  
"Thank you for the tea," he said, enjoying their openmouthed stares. "I believe I'll go look in on Okina and Misao."  
  
And they could make of *that* what they wished, decided Aoshi as he headed for the training yard.  
  
-end- 


	2. 1 Letters

MASKS A Rurouni Kenshin fanfic by Peregrine Vision  
  
Chapter One - Letters  
  
It was as if he'd known something was going to happen.  
  
Aoshi was uneasy. It wasn't like him to feel so restless, and he knew it pointed to some underlying problem. But things couldn't have been better. Misao was settling in wonderfully as Okashira. The Oniwabanshuu had several new recruits, whom they were training more assiduously in collecting information than in martial arts. The Aoi-ya was doing brisk business, and there was even talk of opening another branch in Tokyo--Misao's idea, put forward with transparent eagerness.  
  
So there was no reason to suspect anything brewing, which naturally led him to suspect something was brewing. Old habits did indeed die hard.  
  
But old instincts were well founded, as he soon discovered. One of Aoshi's contacts--his personal contacts, kept apart from the Oniwabanshuu network in the event of internal conflict--left him a message at the dovecotes. It was proof of the softer times that Aoshi didn't bother to leave word with Misao, that he went to see the man purely out of curiosity...and that twitchy feeling.  
  
The letter was no mere curios. When Aoshi slitted it open with his tanto, the first thing he noticed was a sharp chemical smell. The second was the little paper packet that fell out onto the table.  
  
The man sitting across the table gasped. "Okashira, that's--"  
  
Aoshi's sharp gesture silenced him. The former Okashira went to the door of the little apartment, open to the street, and slid it shut.   
  
"Ishigawa," he said evenly, sitting at the table again, "you've been a good and loyal follower over the years. But there is only one person to whom you owe the name of Okashira, and that is Misao. I hope I won't have to remind you again."  
  
Ishigawa lowered his eyes. "Yes, Aoshi-sama."  
  
Aoshi carefully undid the folded triangle of paper with his fingertips. It contained a tiny amount of sticky dark substance. The cloying smell increased. It smelled fermented, like a rice sweet drowned in sake and then gone rotten.  
  
"This is opium."  
  
"Opium?" Ishigawa looked surprised. "But...it smells so strong!"  
  
"Yes." Aoshi narrowed his eyes at the drug. Time enough for that later. He unfolded the letter that was in the envelope. It was thin, rough rice paper--cheap stuff. The calligraphy was just that--calligraphy. Fine brushwork, small and neat, apparently rushed but still flowing and with tiny flourishes where appropriate. Which made the tone of the letter so jarring in contrast.  
  
"Hey, does this seem familiar? Not quite, I bet. Old business still unfinished, I guess. Coming into Canton by the shipload from Japan. Need you to find out how. Will contact you again. Jaa."  
  
Part of Aoshi's extensive Okashira training had been in the recognition of speech patterns. Most organizations, for example, had a common speech pattern among their agents, which was always useful to know when sniffing out spies. The individual also had unique speech patterns, unmistakable if one knew them well enough.   
  
Aoshi's advantage in this case was in that this person had sent another letter over a year ago. Even before that Aoshi had, over long acquaintance, managed to pin down his speech pattern. With those circumstances in his favor, the manner of wording in the letter was as obvious as if the writer had included a portrait.  
  
Sagara Sanosuke.  
  
And he was working with at least one other person. Aoshi had seen Sagara's handwriting, and it was quite unlike this small, delicate hand. He didn't recognize the hand, but it betrayed a personality quite opposite to Sagara's: precise and controlled, perhaps even repressed. Highly sensitive, perhaps even slightly unstable. How had Sagara come to trust someone like this?  
  
He frowned at the letter, and then at the portion of opium. Gingerly, he took a miniscule bit on a fingertip, and crumbled it. Then he touched it to his tongue, ignoring Ishigawa's alarmed protests.   
  
Sharper than ordinary opium, practically alcoholic. This sample was a very poor imitation, but still quite familiar.  
  
It took him a while to make up his mind. Involving people outside the organization was dangerous, on both sides. But he didn't have the expertise in this field, and there was only one person he knew who did.  
  
"Ishigawa."  
  
"Yes, sir!"  
  
Aoshi took a scrap of paper and a bit of charcoal from a pocket sewn into his glove. He wrote a name on the paper and handed it to his informant. "Find me the address of this person. Last I heard, she was living in Aizu. I need to know where."  
  
His thoughts turned briefly toward Misao. Should he let her know about this? He glanced at the letter again. Sagara had not signed it; he had even had someone else write it so that his hand wouldn't be recognized. And he had sent it here, not to his friends in Tokyo.   
  
This did not seem like a situation Misao would understand. She was growing up quickly and learning much, but she was not old enough yet for this kind of subtle reading of clues. She would see no reason not to tell Himura. Aoshi resolved to teach her something more of it after this was over. For now, regrettably, it would be his task alone.  
  
He instructed Ishigawa to use only his private network in the search for Takani Megumi. The man's eyes widened, but he said nothing. Good. Aoshi didn't pay him for personal opinions.  
  
He tried to quell the rising feeling of guilt as he headed back to the Aoi-ya.   
  
* * *  
  
Two days later, he had an answer, although not in the way he'd expected.  
  
A rather stunned Ishigawa met Aoshi at a tiny ramen house, owned by another contact. It was a frequent Oniwabanshuu meeting place. Ishigawa was accompanied by a younger recruit, who also looked a bit twitchy. The young man had a swollen bruise over one eye. Aoshi raised an eyebrow, sensing something amiss.  
  
"This is Kazuya," said the older man nervously. "He's the one who, ah, found Takani-sensei. We have, ah, established that she is living in a prosperous district in Aizu, practicing medicine in a joint clinic with her brother."  
  
Ishigawa's eyes slid sideways to Kazuya, who was growing increasingly agitated. Where had they found this idiot? Oniwabanshuu were supposed to be more in control of themselves. The boy was as transparent as a glass box.  
  
"We have the address," went on Ishigawa. Aoshi proceeded to memorize the address he gave and the route to follow there, all the while keeping an eye on Kazuya.  
  
Finally he lost patience. "All right, you," he snapped at Kazuya, who jumped and looked guilty. "What aren't you telling me?"  
  
"She--she sent this, sir!" blurted the younger man, handing Aoshi a note.  
  
Aoshi's eyes narrowed. "She sent--?" He leaned forward, clenching the note in his fist, and said in a very low, even tone, "Exactly how stupid can you get? What did you do, knock on her door and ask her, 'Excuse me, are you Takani Megumi and do you live here?'"  
  
"No, Aoshi-sama!" Kazuya gripped the edge of the table, trembling under Aoshi's icy glare. "She...she knew me, sir. She realized I was Oniwabanshuu."  
  
Aoshi rolled his eyes. "You didn't use the trees, did you? You're an agent, not a ninja retainer from the Tokugawa period! Weren't you taught a little subtlety?"  
  
"I didn't, sir. I...pretended to be seeking her help."  
  
Aoshi leaned back against his chair, reaching into himself for patience. "Am I to understand that you actually tried to establish contact with Takani Megumi?"  
  
Kazuya bowed until his forehead was pressed against the table. "Forgive me, Aoshi-sama!"  
  
"Will you at least explain *why* you thought it was necessary to speak to the lady herself?" But the question had already been answered; in the bright sunlight coming in through the windows Aoshi could clearly see that the young man's ears and the back of his neck had turned bright red. Another victim of the lady doctor's charm. The thought irritated Aoshi, for a reason which, once realized, only served to irritate him further.   
  
"Did it occur to you," he said in a poisonous tone, "that a *doctor* might notice that you weren't sick?"  
  
Kazuya was silent, quivering. Aoshi turned his stare on Ishigawa, who also wilted under it.  
  
"You call this an agent? Send this man back to the training house until he finds some wits. And if you want to regain your position in my esteem, you will make sure no one else finds out about this."  
  
"Yes, Aoshi-sama."  
  
They left, not bothering to disguise their relief at the escape.  
  
Aoshi unfolded the note. It read: //Don't send your skulking shadows around my clinic. If you want to know something, come here and ask me yourself.//  
  
Warring feelings of chagrin and admiration rose in him. The negative emotion won out: here was something else he owed her an apology for. He cursed Kazuya's incompetency and his own oversight. From hereon he would screen all recommendations for his personal network himself.  
  
Now he just had to find a way to disappear for a while without making Misao suspicious.   
  
* * *  
  
"The nerve! The absolute *nerve* of that...that..."  
  
"My children are in the next room, Gucchan," pointed out Takani Shigeru, who had been sitting at the small Japanese writing desk in the corner of the room. Megumi spared her brother another glare for the ugly childhood nickname.  
  
"That bloodless, poker-faced, sneaking madman," she finished, enunciating each word. "Sending a...a *lackey* to spy on me! Shameless!"  
  
"I think it was rather wise." Shigeru grinned. "Considering what you did to the lackey."  
  
Megumi paused to stifle a smile. The satisfying ring of the chamberpot against that man's skull still echoed in her memory. Her hands clenched into fists, the smile disappearing. Too bad it wasn't that Shinomori Aoshi who'd suffered the blow! Then again, what defense was a chamberpot against a skull of solid bone?  
  
"The nerve! The gall! The overwhelming arrogance of..."  
  
When she had been reduced to incoherent spluttering, Shigeru stood up. "So, what did he want?"  
  
Megumi stared at him. "What?"  
  
"What did he *want*, Gucchan?"  
  
"Don't call me that!" A laugh was her only answer. Megumi sighed in irritation. "How should I know what he wanted? Why, for that matter, should I care? Ugh. Shinomori Aoshi!" She said it like a curse.   
  
Shigeru's grin only got wider. Several years older than her, Geru had the foxlike Takani eyes, although they were creased about the corners from long years of hardship. Geru had not been so lucky in finding friends as Megumi had, but eventually he'd been able to return home and settle in, even raise a family of his own. Megumi knew their relationship was not quite the same as siblings who had grown up together in a happy, safe environment. Much of the time they still teased each other like the children they had been. In fact, Megumi usually had the upper hand, needling Geru on his fatherly waistline, his indulgence with his children and his wife, his slovenly habits in the office. This was his chance to even the score a little.  
  
"So, who *is* this man?" he teased. "You're obviously close, for him to pluck your strings as he does."  
  
Megumi made a noise of distaste. "Shinomori Aoshi *plucks* none of my *strings*."  
  
Before Geru could press her further, the bell attached to the front door announced that another person had come for treatment. This one turned out to be a regular, a woman with a mild but chronic lung disease whom Geru had been looking after for some time.  
  
He poked his head back into the small, cluttered office. "Gucchan, could you mix up some more of that stuff with the eucalyptus and honey? Tsuneo-okusan is almost out, she says."  
  
"All right."  
  
His eyes twinkled. "Don't think you've been spared. I expect to hear about this mysterious person over dinner."  
  
"Don't spoil my appetite," she retorted. He chuckled and ducked out again.  
  
Already rolling up her sleeves, Megumi left the office. She set her equipment up in the small part of the kitchen which was separated with a divider, to make a tiny pharmacy/laboratory. As she ground leaves and mixed liquids in a clear glass bowl, Megumi let the familiar routine of her work soothe her.  
  
She couldn't tell Geru everything. How could she? //I'd been making opium for a man who hired Aoshi as an assassin. Aoshi gave me a knife to help me commit suicide. A year or so later he came back and offered to do the job himself. I also watched him cut up the body of my dead friend, but it turned out it wasn't her body and she wasn't dead. However, that's all in the past. We're sort of friends. Or we were, but now...//  
  
But now it seemed Shinomori Aoshi was playing his sneaking games again, and she wasn't about to play helpless pawn this time.  
  
The cough mixture went into a small jar, to be taken with hot water in small amounts every day. Megumi sighed and took off the kerchief she'd put on to work, shaking out her hair. Whatever that man was up to, he was on his own. It had nothing whatsoever to do with her.  
  
-end one- 


	3. 2 Tempus Fugit

MASKS A Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic by Peregrine Vision  
  
Chapter 2 - Tempus Fugit  
  
The first death report reached Aoshi before he had even finished preparing for the journey.   
  
He had notified his spies to keep track of anything related to the Kanryuu opium. Oddly enough, the report came not through Aoshi's personal network, but through a pigeon sent by an Oniwabanshuu agent. By happy chance this agent was stationed in a small coastal town called Okada. That was in the Fukushima area, quite close to Aizu. Highly convenient, or at least Aoshi thought so for the first few minutes.  
  
Inconvenience showed up soon enough--Misao insisted on going with him.  
  
* * *  
  
On reflection, perhaps "No, you can't" was not the best thing he could have said. But his usual care with choosing words always broke down around Misao. Either he said nothing at all, or he somehow found the completely wrong thing to say--as in this case.  
  
Misao was understandably furious. "What do you mean, I *can't*?"  
  
Aoshi wondered if it was possible for one to be unconsciously suicidal. "I'm sorry, Misao. I meant to say that a minor situation in a small town does not need the personal attention of the Okashira."  
  
"Aoshi-sama, this is serious!" Misao waved the note, covered in the tiny coded scribble of the agent. "It says someone's died of a new drug, and more have been confirmed as addicted to it! That's hardly *minor*."  
  
"I know," Aoshi said, keeping an even tone. She must not see how urgent he suspected the real situation was. "That's why I'm going myself. I'd like to have you along--"   
  
That soothed her for a moment; her eyes shone and she tried not to smile.  
  
"--but the fact is, I need you here."  
  
The smile faded into a rebellious look. "What about Jiya and the others? We have more people now; we can--"  
  
"You are *Okashira*," Aoshi said, putting heavy emphasis on the title. "You know what that means." He suppressed the urge to sigh. When he was newly Okashira, he had not needed these things explained to him, and he had been much younger that Misao was now.  
  
Misao met his stare defiantly. "I've been Okashira for over ten whole years, Aoshi-sama. I should think they'd do all right if I was absent for a couple of weeks."  
  
Aoshi blinked. Ten years already? He stared at the young woman who glared up at him. She was wearing a kimono like Omasu's, her hair loose around her shoulders--she refused to have it done up like Okon, or even in Omasu's simpler style.  
  
Ten years. He'd been so accustomed to Misao's friendly, spirited face that he'd failed to realize just how much the body around it had changed. He suddenly felt old, the breeze of Misao's presence becoming the cold breath of his impending age.  
  
He turned away from Misao, disliking his morbid thoughts. He was only thirty-six; it wasn't as if he was about to turn to dust. But being Okashira at the age of fifteen had aged him ahead of his time; he always *felt* older, somehow. Certainly much older than Misao.  
  
Misao took his silence as encouragement and pressed her argument. "Besides, what if you need a second? What if you get hurt, or get in trouble? What if you need someone to take a hurt for you?"  
  
"Then you are the last person I could afford to lose," Aoshi cut her off.   
  
She looked distinctly unhappy, but at least she had stopped arguing. He decided to suspend his own rules about personal contact for a moment, and put his hands on her shoulders.  
  
"You are Okashira," he repeated, looking her full in the face. "We need you here. Does the heart leave its accustomed place in the body and go wandering about? Does the brain descend to the belly to see for itself what the stomach is doing?"  
  
Misao held his gaze for a moment, then looked down. A little of the tension left her shoulders. She slanted a brief look up at him.  
  
"What does that make you?" she asked, smiling a little.  
  
So sharp. She had been paying attention after all.  
  
Aoshi allowed himself the indulgence of a small smile in return. Her eyes widened, as they always did whenever he smiled. He touched her cheek, and observed with sadness how she reacted to the touch. They expected such different things of each other.   
  
"I am your sword arm," he said. "I go where I can protect you."  
  
"Aoshi-sama..." Misao whispered. She closed her eyes, her lips parting. Waiting.  
  
The idea startled Aoshi as completely as if she *had* been his daughter. He fought down the sudden onrush of panic. Swallowing, he patted her, a little awkwardly, on the cheek. Her eyes flew open.  
  
There was only a very brief disappointment in her expression before she hugged Aoshi. Hard.  
  
"When are you going?" she mumbled into his chest.  
  
"A...after dinner," he said, a little short of breath. "Best to travel at night."  
  
"Take care," she said, hugging him even more fiercely. Just as he was about to point out that he would very much like his ribs back, thank you, Misao let him go.  
  
Her back was straight as she walked off, her steps small but quick, with none of the pigeon-toed mincing that other girls affected. She was taller now, too. Aoshi sighed, feeling old again. Maybe he could bring her something when he returned. Some little trinket: pretty yet functional. She would like that.  
  
* * *  
  
There was a letter in Megumi's room when she got home from a house call. She felt a rush of pleased surprise when she saw the Tokyo address, and a small nagging guilt that she hadn't written in a while.  
  
She slit the letter open with a pencil. As usual, it was a long letter, three pages or so. Kaoru liked to tell every little detail of every little thing that happened at the Kamiya dojo, as well as her opinions on it, and Ken-san's too, if he ever got a word in edgewise to tell her. Megumi rather liked it.   
  
//Dear Megumi-san,  
  
It's been a while, hasn't it? We all miss your company and were wondering where you were and how you've been.//  
  
Megumi grinned. Subtle, very subtle.  
  
//Kenji is such a prideful little rooster. Remember when I told you Kenshin took my name when we married, so the school could continue? Kenji doesn't object, but he always tells anyone who asks that his name is Himura-Kamiya Kenji. Now he's insisting he be graduated from his small shinai to a proper bokutou. I put my foot down and insisted in return that he wait until he's ten. At least he's not demanding a "real" sword, although the way Yahiko fusses over the sakabatou, he'll be asking us for one of his own soon.  
  
Yutarou-kun is doing very well, as is Yahiko. They both are about equal in skill, since one would rather die than lose to the other in anything. I don't mind--their little contests keep the house clean, the laundry washed, the meals on the table, and the baby happy.   
  
Tomoko is growing so fast! She's not even a year old, but she gets into *everything*. Just the other day I found her sitting in the laundry tub. She must have thought it was her bath, and wondering what all the soap and clothes were doing there. She got a mouthful of soap, and it took Kenshin quite a while to get her to calm down. Good thing she adores him.//  
  
Picturing the scene made Megumi laugh. She could imagine it--a violet-eyed baby with a mess of soft black hair, squalling in the midst of a heap of sodden clothes. Ken-san, taller and broader now, his red hair cut short, soothing the little girl, washing off the soap, all tender "maa"s and startled "oro"s at each new wail.  
  
//Kenshin is well also--thanks to you. I give him his medicine every morning before breakfast and every night before he goes to bed. He's quite grateful for the boys' help, since his bones are definitely showing the strain now. Running makes his knees ache, and he can't do laundry anymore without his wrists cramping. He jokes that he's exchanged his sword skills for predicting the weather, since his old wounds all start complaining every time it's about to rain.//  
  
Beneath the cheerful words Megumi sensed a sadness, a regret for the price Ken-san had had to pay for their peace and happiness. A little while after their marriage, Ken-san had been diagnosed with a bone disease. Over the years his bones would slowly degenerate until he would be rendered practically crippled. Megumi had developed an herbal medicine that would delay the degeneration and keep Ken-san on his feet until he was at least another thirty years older. Fighting, of course, was out of the question. Fortunately Yutarou-kun, Yahiko-kun and the junior Kamiya Kasshin students were there to help...and the peaceful times themselves ensured that there was no great need to fight for anything.  
  
//Everyone at the dojo loves him. After lessons they like to look for him and pester him for stories of all his legendary fights. It warms my heart to see him opening up to the children. He speaks of his past so easily now, and without guilt or pain; although he prefers to tell stories of the lesser fights, the ones where there are no deaths. He's as much a teacher of Kamiya Kasshin Ryu as I am: he speaks to them of the sword that protects, and he does it so gently and with such wisdom that even I like to sit at the back of the room and listen to him. He's really wonderful.//  
  
"Of course he is," Megumi said aloud. She blinked, startled at the sound of her own voice in the quiet room. For a moment she looked around, seeing the empty room with new eyes. She had thought it cozy, but after imagining the noisy, happy Kamiya household, it seemed stark and cold in comparison. Then she laughed a little to herself--how silly she was being!--and read on.  
  
//Something very surprising happened the other day, and that's really what I'm writing to you about. Two new children showed up here. Well, the sister is actually about seventeen, so I shouldn't say "child". The boy is almost thirteen.  
  
They say that a man protected them from some politician's henchmen when they were younger, and told them to come to the Kamiya dojo if they wanted to become strong. They didn't know who he was. But Megumi-san, there was a strange thing about the little boy--he wears a jacket with the kanji "aku" on on the back.//  
  
Megumi recoiled from the letter as though it had burst into flame. She dropped back on her heels as it fell to the floor.  
  
Sagara Sanosuke.  
  
Her heart became an annoyance, a hard, rattling thing in her chest. She clenched her fists.  
  
Sagara Sanosuke.  
  
How long?  
  
How long had it been since she had found out about him? Her feelings had made her uncomfortable; it made no sense to be feeling that gentle uncurling tenderness toward him. It had irritated her, but at the same time she could not have denied it. She had been worried when he was gone. She had been angry when he hurt himself. She had feared for him: for his health, for his ability to land himself in trouble with important people, for his champion stubbornness.  
  
She had almost, almost, begun to love him.  
  
And then she had found out about him and Ken-san.  
  
And *Ken-san*. Of all the people in the world, it had to be Ken-san, the one other person she cared about the most.  
  
Megumi shuddered, remembering the horror of finding out. Remembering the blood on Sanosuke's jacket--Ken-san's blood!--and how they had come to her because they were afraid to go to another doctor. Finding the *other* substance mingled with the blood. Seeing the shame in their eyes, and yet in that shame, how they tried to shelter each other from her stare.  
  
One thing in particular stood out in her mind. She had reached out to slap Sanosuke, as hard as she could. Ken-san had grabbed Sanosuke's hand, drawing him back, and his other arm had barred her way. He had held Sanosuke behind him, and looked up with pleading violet eyes to Megumi.  
  
"Please, Megumi-dono. Please, whatever you do, don't tell Kaoru-dono."  
  
She had realized then that he loved Kaoru in a way that he would never love Sanosuke. Sanosuke had realized it too, the shock and then pain rising in his eyes as he stared down at Ken-san. And that made it worse, somehow. Because Sanosuke had rendered her feelings worthless, only to have his own cast aside. It should have served him right, but it only made Megumi feel doubly insulted.  
  
It had taken a long time to heal the rift. The trouble in Kyoto had helped--it was easier to forget great hurts in the face of greater loss. Ken-san had later confessed to her that after Kyoto, he had broken with Sanosuke. That had helped, too. But they were always a little uncomfortable around each other from then on.  
  
As for Sanosuke, she found herself feeling sympathetic after a while. But she had never really forgiven him, as she had Ken-san.  
  
Megumi clutched at her knees in sudden anger. And then that...! Running away like that--twice! Once when everyone had believed Kaoru was dead, and then again, for more than ten *years* now! Coward!  
  
She grabbed the letter, intending to crumple it, but stopped. Instead she left it on her pillow. Maybe she would read it later, when she went to bed. But right now she needed a long, quiet walk.  
  
-end 2- 


	4. 3 Embarrassments

MASKS

A Rurouni Kenshin Fanfic

by Peregrine Vision

Chapter 3 - Embarrassments

It was dark: the velvet home of the ninja, the silent mother that enfolded all good spies. No true Oniwabanshuu could be anything less than comfortable in the dark.

Aoshi was far from comfortable. He was wet through, his clothes were in a disgusting state, and there were things sticking in his hair that only a thorough wash could dislodge--not likely, as the nearest river was miles away.

How humiliating.

To be fair, it wasn't his fault. He had traveled for almost two weeks without incident. Then there had been a bad rainstorm that night--one of those abrupt summer storms that seemed designed to catch the traveler unawares--and he'd had the misfortune of being in an area of thick forest when it happened. He'd taken shelter under a low tree with heavy branches. Deciding the storm wouldn't be over for a good while and that he was mostly dry and warm, he settled down to catch what sleep he could.

Aoshi must have been more tired than he'd originally thought--he hadn't woken up until just before the lightning strike. Fortunately that was enough time to jump clear of the bolt, but not enough time to get out of the way of the dislodged earth. He tried to leap away, but his foot had become caught in a branch. Aoshi was borne downhill by a full-blown landslide.

When the world stopped crashing and flowing, Aoshi found himself in a completely unfamiliar place. There were no stars to guide him, and any available land on which he might have used his extensive knowledge of pathfinding was now hopelessly destroyed.

A tree branch crashed to the ground beside him, one flailing twig snagging on his sleeve and tearing a hole in it. Aoshi firmly reminded himself that it was neither clever nor proper to swear.

Even when alone.

Even when alone, cold, wet, ears still ringing from the thunderclaps, and struggling to make headway through all this...no, _don't_ swear!...this _entanglement_.

His mood only improved a little when the dawn began to show, a paler grey against the wet pitch-blackness. It improved a little more when the sun showed faintly through the grey and he could finally get his bearings.

A few hours later, Aoshi saw that the trees were thinning. Over the next rise was the tiny port town of Okada--his first destination. He was still cold and wet, but at least now he was cold and wet and _focused_.

It was a beautiful morning, fresh from the previous night's shower. Megumi yawned as she slid open her door, and settled down on the veranda to look out at her little garden.

The garden of herbs was Megumi's special pride, and the secret of many of her remedies (as well as a few dishes that Shigeru's wife Yuka had begged to learn). One of Megumi's special pleasures was working with her hands--it was a very Japanese thing, and she suspected Kaoru would have laughed at her for enjoying something so domestic. But whether it was a human, or a green growing thing, Megumi liked taking care of creatures. It came naturally to her, this nurturing instinct.

That was probably why she had been so drawn to Ken-san, and to Sanosuke. Now those were men who needed looking after.

Megumi frowned. Just for a moment, she had been thinking of them without the sore spot that always came into her heart. She sighed, sitting back on her heels, and gazed out over her plants, not really seeing them.

For a doctor, she wasn't doing too well at her own healing, was she?

Her natural common sense took over, reinforced by the harsh light of day. _Oh, for goodness' sakes just finish that letter. You miss them, don't you?_

Ten minutes of indecision later, Megumi was sitting on the veranda again, reading Kaoru's letter. Her eyebrows lifted and they stayed lifted several lines down the page.

"Megumi-chan!"

She blinked up at Yuka, who had hurried into her room without any warning. There was a frightened look in the older woman's eyes.

"You have to come," gasped Yuka. "Shigeru says you need to see this--hurry--"

Megumi was already dressing. She snatched her kit and followed Yuka to the clinic. Shigeru raised panicked eyes to her. "Oh, good, you're here," he said. The unease in his voice rattled Megumi even more; his calm, professional air was shaken. "I didn't know what to do."

On the examining table lay a man, pale and sweating. Shigeru had stripped him to the waist. The man's eyes had rolled back in his head. One arm reached out, groping for something no one else could see. When Megumi had washed her hands and stepped up to the bedside, she could smell the sour odor of dried vomit.

Shigeru's eyes were haunted. "Megumi...please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

The sinking feeling in Megumi's stomach agreed with him. But she couldn't lie to him or to herself.

"This man is an opium addict," she said quietly. "Did you search his clothes?"

"We found these," said Yuka breathlessly. She picked up a few scraps of white paper on Shigeru's desk that had been twisted into makeshift packets. Megumi took one and undid it.

A tiny dark glob nestled in the piece of paper. It emitted a sharp, sickly perfume. The smell was stronger than she remembered--more chemical--but it was familiar enough to create a tight, squeezing knot of dread in Megumi's gut. She looked up into her brother's fearful face.

"It's the same stuff, isn't it?" Shigeru asked quietly.

Megumi remembered a Buddhist priest chanting at the funeral of her family. _The soul returns to the soul's path because that is the path the soul has chosen. We walk the same roads over and over again because we do not know there is another road to take. Only when we understand our path, we are free to choose another path. If we cannot release the past, we are doomed to repeat the past._

The image of Sanosuke's eyes, brilliant with anger and accusation, came to memory. Megumi gritted her teeth. She didn't want to go back to the past, but it seemed the past had found her.

As she helped Shigeru strap the thrashing man to the table and sent Yuka for bowls of hot water, Megumi suddenly remembered the agent that Shinomori Aoshi had sent. A fresh wave of anger rose inside her.

_If I learn he's involved in this, I really _will_ kill him._

There was, of course, one way to find out. She was going to write the Oniwabanshuu headquarters. Misao would know what was going on, and if anyone could get it out of that man, it was her.

The Oniwabanshuu "outpost", if it could be called that, was a fisherman's hut perched on solid stilts over the water on the far side of the beach. It was one of a scattered number of huts on the water, as well as several further inland. The fishing community was set a little apart from the rest of the town, which was largely made up of merchants and their lackeys.

Aoshi, washed and in clean if worn clothes, sat on the futon his agent provided. Nobu was getting on in years, his hair greying, but still strong and straight-backed. His shoulders were a little stooped from hauling fish, but his eyes had an intelligent glitter that many of the townspeople lacked.

"Forgive the humble quarters, Aoshi-sama."

Aoshi shook his head. "Don't apologise, Nobu. This is fine. Report."

"Yes, sir." Nobu sucked at his teeth for a moment, staring at the wall. "There have been ships anchored offshore during certain months of the year. Last month, for example--the beginning of summer. Mid-autumn. The third or so week of spring. They send boats to shore, but never come to shore themselves. They don't even show themselves, but lurk round the cove. Sometimes the town officials send boats out to them."

Aoshi raised his eyebrows at that. "Officially sanctioned?"

It was Nobu's turn to shake his head.

"And you have confirmed the cargo of these ships?"

"Opium, Aoshi-sama. Unmistakably. All boats to and from the ship go under cover of night, when most of the town is asleep. And the first ship appeared about seven months ago--a few weeks later an opium den opened in town. They don't call it that--apparently it's a moneylending place--but no moneylenders spend several hours in a building and come out with considerably less than they came in." Nobu made a face as if he was going to spit, but seemed to remember he was in the presence of a superior and restrained himself.

"Seven months? Why didn't you report to me before?"

"You didn't ask." Nobu looked abashed. "Illegal trade happens all the time, sir--I didn't think it was anything to be seriously concerned about...until the death, anyway."

Aoshi thought about the letter. "My information said that they were exporting the opium, not importing it."

Nobu's eyes widened. After a moment he nodded. "That explains a lot. More crates going out than coming in. I thought that was the gold they got for it--I suppose not. Also, lots of carts coming in on the roads, but it's hard to tell what's what, when it's all sealed. I wondered why the den wasn't as big as it was in most places." He frowned, his forehead making deep wrinkles. "Why would _Japan_ export opium to _China_?"

Aoshi did not reply. When he and his four Oniwabanshuu had been under Kanryuu's employ, Nobu had been part of a different network and had no knowledge of that chapter of the past. It wasn't uncommon for different branches of the Oniwabanshuu to be unaware of each other's activities.

After a while he said, "My source believes it's a different type. More addictive, with stronger effects. Cheaper to produce, as well, which is probably why some of it is being kept and dealt locally. But if you didn't know, then the manufacture must not take place here."

"No, sir," replied Nobu. "Never seen nor heard of any place that's making opium."

That made things more difficult. But successful criminals were nothing if not clever. "Find out where the opium is coming from. I'd like an answer in two more days."

"Yes, sir." Nobu stretched, with much crackling of joints. "Not tonight, I suppose? Had a big haul this morning, and kept myself busy lugging fish back and forth. My bones aren't as young as they were."

"Yes, you're right. Get some rest."

The moon shone through slits in the walls of the bamboo hut, cutting through the feeble light of the oil lamp Nobu had lit. The hut was a small space with no walls, just ragged lengths of oiled cloth hanging from the ceiling which Nobu had hastily tacked on to give his superior some pretension of privacy. The thin futon had been set in Aoshi's space. It didn't feel much more comfortable than the crumpled blanket in the corner that Nobu was using as his own bedding.

"Nobu," said Aoshi after some time, "you are not...married?"

"Eh?" The older man looked at him in surprise. Then Nobu laughed, displaying yellowed teeth. "What on earth would I do with a wife? Or more to the point, what on earth would she do with me?" He shook his head. "I can't say I don't think of it sometimes. But she'd only gossip; that's about all there is to do in this town. You know, Aoshi-sama, being Oniwabanshuu _and_ married is a little too much work for most people."

The truth of this had never really sunk in with Aoshi; he had just assumed it was a part of things. Oniwabanshuu hardly ever married; their lives were too secret, there was too much to do. Who could pay attention to a demanding woman and squalling children? The only way that worked was to take a wife that was already Oniwabanshuu. Okina had had a wife once, but she had died in a raid before she could bear him any children. Probably why he'd taken Misao so to heart.

But what about those who were not willing to risk their loved ones? Who died without line, without people to honor their memory and mourn when they were gone? Aoshi thought of his fallen guard--his friends. While it was unlikely that the four of them would ever have married or had children, they had all been very good with Misao. Hannya, especially, had looked on her as a precious little sister. Aoshi wondered if they had perhaps thought of him as a younger brother as well as their Okashira.

Nobu bid his superior good night, and Aoshi stretched out on the futon to sleep. He knew Nobu was lonely. Obviously the man longed for a little companionship, a little more warmth in this flimsy hovel on winter nights, hot meals, and other things that came with having a wife. Aoshi only had rather vague ideas, never having been particularly interested in that aspect of human behavior.

He fell asleep shortly, and had a rare dream. He was standing at the door to the Aoiya's practice yard, watching Misao fight with her shinai. It was not the new Misao but the old one, in her braid and boyish fighting uniform. He heard a noise coming from the kitchen across the courtyard, and went to investigate. As he pulled open the sliding door, he realised he could smell, very faintly, orange blossoms.

-end 3-


End file.
